If Florida, among all a many melodramas of a final 500 years, could be pronounced to have had usually one defining moment, this was it since in this place, during this sold time, a eminence between existence and fantasy—nature and names—vanished entirely. Walt Disney was passed when he done this presentation. A ongoing smoker, he had died of lung cancer 7 weeks earlier. As a lips of a passed Disney moved, people in a assembly murmured their agreement. As his hands gestured, they nodded their approval. The post-mortem Walt Disney, like a automatic Andrew Jackson in a Hall of a Presidents, had assimilated Mickey, Donald, and a Sorcerer’s Apprentice in that special universe where it doesn’t matter either you’re genuine or not.